


Smooth Operator

by zillah975



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-25
Updated: 2009-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 06:39:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillah975/pseuds/zillah975
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the <a href="http://kyuuketsukirui.livejournal.com/570638.html">Imperfect Sex Is Not The End Of The World</a> challenge. Takes place between <i>Born Under A Bad Sign</i> and <i>Tall Tales</i>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Smooth Operator

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Imperfect Sex Is Not The End Of The World](http://kyuuketsukirui.livejournal.com/570638.html) challenge. Takes place between _Born Under A Bad Sign_ and _Tall Tales_.

He's drunker than he's been since Sammy came back.

Well, since he went and hauled Sammy away from 'normal', anyway, hustled him back into the family fold, and it's Sam's fault he's drunk anyway. Sam's the one who pushed him into going back to see Jo while Sammy figures out their next job, wants him to thank her for patching him up and see if she's likely to try to kill Sam next time she sees him. Not that Sammy'd blame her of course, after what he did, he's made that clear, but Dean sure as fuck would and that was what got him headed back to Duluth - find out whether Jo's another threat, or just the same cute little blond number crushing on him.

Oh yeah, Sammy thinks he doesn't know. Hell, Jo thinks he doesn't know, near as he can tell, but Dean's nowhere near stupid enough to have missed it. She's carrying it so high and bright he's surprised there aren't airplanes landing on her.

She's been feeding him bourbon since closing time, and he's spent the last half of the bottle talking her ear off about anything that came into his head, and eventually what came into his head was Sam.

"He's the only family I've got, now," he's saying. "Ellen's great, she's - and you," trying to be sure she doesn't sound like an afterthought. "And Bobby," he says, nods firmly. "Bobby's - Bobby's the best. But family, that's everything." He rubs the bridge of his nose. "If something happened to Sammy. If I lost him--"

"He's a big boy, Dean," Jo says, and Dean waves her off, shaking his head. "God, stop being such a pussy," she snaps. "You act like he's some little schoolgirl can't take care of himself."

He swings around to look at her and the room tilts, and then he realizes she's got her hands on his face, turning him to her. Soft hands, softer than they should be for working at this bar for the last however long. Her lower lip is shiny, with booze or spit, he doesn't know.

"He's a big boy," she murmurs, and her voice doesn't seem quite synched up with her mouth. "And I'm a big girl."

"You're not that big," he mutters, and she smiles, cockeyed, and then her bright brown eyes, and that pretty bow of a mouth, and her hands are so warm....

It's not booze or spit, it turns out. It's some kind of sticky-sweet lip gloss, strawberry, maybe, shiny-gritty where her mouth touches his, and then her little pink tongue is slipping across the seam of his lips and she's working his shirt open, kitten-touches slipping lower. The flush of heat is bourbon and the smell of her, and her hand trailing down his inseam, and his dick starts to stiffen even as he's shaking his head. "No, now, Jo," he breathes, trying to pull back. Ellen's face flashes in his mind - and then that shotgun she keeps behind the bar. "No, this - this ain't right."

But for once Jo doesn't argue. Just murmurs, "Shhhh... shhhh... it's fine, Dean," even though nothing's fine. And then she's kissing his mouth open and sliding her tongue inside and he groans, and when she sucks his lower lip between her teeth and makes that little sound in the back of her throat, his cock twitches like someone grabbed it, and then he's kissing her back for real, teeth and tongue and she's honey in his hands, tight little body like she shouldn't be more than seventeen years old and making out in the back seat of her boyfriend's Camero. She's arching against him, grabbing at him, pushing her hand into his jeans, and the things she starts saying are enough to make him remember how to blush.

Which isn't necessarily a good sign.

"Whoa, whoa whoa," he says suddenly, hands on her arms and pushing her back, "hang on there cowgirl, where'd you learn to talk like that?"

She stares at him. "Dean," she says, blond hair falling into her eyes and her tone all wrapped up in _how stupid can you be and still live?_ like a big ol' gag gift, but she's blushing red and he doesn't think it's the booze. Doesn't actually remember her drinking much at all. "I grew up around hunters," she says. "I grew up around _Ash_. Where the hell do you think I learned it?"

But by then he's got his flask out of his jacket pocket, sly as can be, and he opens it up and takes a big swig of holy water thanking God the bourbon bottle's empty. When he lurches putting the cap back on and spills about half of it on her she squeals and jumps back, batting at him.

But she doesn't start smoking and Dean huffs a little sigh of relief.

"Whoops," he says.

She glares at him. "So much for Dean Winchester, smooth operator."

He shrugs. "Yeah, but I'm still cute, right?"

And that makes her laugh.

And when she pushes him back down into his chair and slides to her knees in front of him all he can do is choke back a groan. He's hard as a railroad spike before she even gets his jeans open, and he curls his fingers into her cornsilk hair and watches, wide-eyed, as Ellen Harvelle's little girl starts working over his dick like she's never tasted anything so sweet.

And if the holy water hadn't already proved it, he'd know now for sure she's no demon, because surely no demon'd be this bad at sucking cock. Of course any blowjob's a good blowjob, right? so it's not like Dean's pushing her away, and it's kinda hot to watch that pretty little mouth wiping sticky sweet lipgloss off all over his prick, and the way she's moaning, and slurping and lapping at his dick, that's pretty cool. But there's precious little sucking in her technique - mostly just the slurping and the lapping, and shooting him heated looks every so often, which he tries to return, but he's not sure he doesn't just look walleyed. It's like she learned to give head from watching bad porn.

He lets her go to it for a while though, the alcohol buzz and the sight of her down there doing the work that her mouth really, really doesn't. But a guy can only take so much, and when he catches himself wondering what Sam's up to he figures that's enough.

He gives her a tug. "Come on up here, sweetheart," he mutters, and she's levering herself up off her knees at last.

"What do you want, sugar?" she drawls. "You wanna fuck me?" and he's opening his mouth to say oh hell yes when she plants a kiss on him, driving her tongue into his mouth and he almost gags, she's got his own taste all up in him now and that's just nasty.

"Nhgph, yeah - yeah," he says, breaking the kiss fast, and she smirks at him.

"I knew you did," she murmurs, nimble little fingers getting her jeans open. "You've wanted me since the day you met me. Well now's your chance, Dean."

She stands up and crooks her finger at him.

The room spins a little. "Yeah," he says, lurching to his feet, "yeah." He glances around - the table's clear, and he slides his arm around her sweet as you please and pulls her over to it.

She shoves him off with an exasperated sigh. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Her face swims in front of him and he squints at her. She's practically tapping her foot.

"Condoms?" she says at last. "You don't think you're barebacking me."

"What? Oh! Oh, yeah, yeah, my bad," he says, though actually he'd thought exactly that, and he's pretty annoyed he's not getting it. He digs out his wallet though, and as soon as he's got the battered foil in his hand she grabs it, peers at it closely.

"Shit. How long've you been carrying this around in there?" she mutters, and he shrugs, spreading his hands.

"Don't have a lot of time for this kinda thing," he slurs, and oh man, the liquor's really hitting him now. His dick's still steel-hard, though, starting to ache, so it's all good as far as he's concerned. He's ready for the job at hand, and that's what matters.

Jo snorts and throws the condom in the ashtray. "Wait here," she says.

"Not goin' anywhere," he answers, watching her ass as she walks away and trying to decide whether it's worse that it's blurry or better 'cause there's two of her.

He's wobbling a little but still standing when she gets back, and she takes one look at him and snorts another laugh. "Christ, you probably can't even get one on, the state you're in." She shakes her head, and he thinks he hears her say something about not holding his liquor. He's about to point out that she's the one who kept filling the glass, and what the hell kind of man can stay sober through most of a fifth of Wild Turkey? But then he gasps, his cock twitching, and words turn into groans as she rolls the condom down onto him.

And when she shoves her jeans and panties down and bends over the table, looking back at him and licking her lips, he stops caring about whether she thinks he can hold his liquor, or whether she thinks at all. That pouty brown-pink pussy all slick and ready, tuft of blond hair barely hiding it, and oh, thank god she doesn't shave, it's just soft wet fur under his fingers when he opens her, and the way she moans when he slides inside...

Her body grips him like a glove and she's rocking back against him, whining and groaning as he fucks her, and pushing her hand beneath to rub her clit. "Come on, do it, fuck me, fuck my pussy," she gasps, and for godssake did she learn everything she knows from goddamned Hustler Video? and she's writhing and bucking and jerking herself off, and Dean's dick is aching, and oh _god_ he needs to come, just slamming into her over and over, until there's no noise but his balls slapping her pussy and the wet sound of her cunt clinging to his dick, her grunting and his own panting breaths.

"Come on," she groans at last, her breathing labored, and she's gripping the far edge of the table like it might get away from her, "do it, fuck," and he's thinking _I'm doing it, for fuck's sake,_ until he sees her face and oh, fucking hell.

She doesn't mean 'do it, do me you big stud,' she means 'come already, would you? I wanna be able to walk tomorrow, thanks a lot.'

He's nowhere close to coming.

He focuses, concentrates on the ache in his balls, and he's watching his dick sliding in and out of her tight pink hole, trying to think of that fantasy that always works, with the busty chick in the leather corset bent over the hood of the Impala and begging for it, _please, please, I need it so bad,_ but all he can hear is Jo panting, and when he peeks at her she looks like she's really had enough of this, bored and irritated.

He groans, almost laughs. First pussy he's had in weeks, and he's too drunk to come. And it's _Jo_, for fuck's sake. Every hunter in the goddamned midwest'll probably hear about this one. The only thing that might save him is if Jo's as scared of her mom as he is.

Finally he gives up, gives in, hissing as he pulls out of her, and he rolls the condom off his still-hard dick and tosses it into the ashtray.

Jo sighs and pulls her panties up. Cute little panties, he thinks. Little pink bow on the front. And for one bright, hopeful moment he thinks about asking her to jerk him off, or if he can jerk off while she just sits there in those cute little panties, but one look at her face and he abandons the idea. He tucks his dick back into his jeans and buttons them up, wincing.

"Well, that was spectacularly disappointing," Jo says, zipping up and tugging her shirt straight.

"Yeah, whatever," Dean says, waving her off. If he weren't so drunk he thinks his dick'd be sore, and he's very damned proud of himself for not calling her on her crappy blowjob. He digs the car keys out of his pocket. "I'm gonna grab some shut-eye, head out first light."

"Oh for - Jesus, Dean," she snaps, and grabs his arm. He almost topples over. "Come on, you're not sleeping in the goddamned car, it's fucking freezing out there. You're staying here."

"In the bar?" Dean snorts. "I'd rather sleep in the Impala."

Jo shoots him a glare that does more to shrink his erection than her bored face while he was fucking her. "I live upstairs, idiot, now come on."

Her apartment is one room and a bathroom, a microwave and a hot plate, and Dean guesses she uses the kitchen downstairs if she needs it, but he doesn't care enough to ask. The bed's a battered old double, and she pushes him down onto it, and when he almost falls off leaning over to unlace his boots she shoves him backwards and does it herself.

He's passed out before she's got the first one off.

  
Sunlight drifts in through the sheer curtains that don't even pretend to cover the window, and Dean thinks he's getting a whole new sympathy for vampires. Sunlight _hurts_. His head is pounding and there's a taste in his mouth that makes him wonder what he's been putting in it.

Beside him Jo is snoring lightly, and he doesn't know what she's wearing apart from an old grey tee-shirt because the sheet's up around her shoulders, and he's just a little too embarrassed about what he remembers of last night to do the ungentlemanly thing and check her out. He eases out of bed without so much as a creak of the springs, then stands still until his head stops spinning.

It takes a minute.

His shirt and jacket are on the chair and he's still in his jeans. His socks are draped over his boots. Quietly as he can - which is pretty damned quiet, especially considering the jackhammer in his head - he gathers up his things and tip-toes out of the apartment. He takes a piss in the closet-sized men's room downstairs, finishes dressing behind the bar, and then he spends what seems like twenty minutes but is more like a minute and a half hunting down a pen and a little pad of paper, listening all the while for footsteps overhead. He scribbles a quick note and then sneaks back upstairs and pushes it under the door.

_Jo ~ Had to split. You looked so cute sleeping I didn't want to wake you. Sam says hi and sorry. Thanks for taking care of my drunk ass. I'll call you later._

And in under three minutes he's in the car and back on the road.

  
"So how was Jo?"

Dean shrugs. "Fine. A little pissy."

"Think I should go see her? Tell her I'm sorry?"

"Nah, she's fine, seriously," he says. "Wasn't your fault anyway, she knows that." He shakes his head, picturing it. _Well Sam, hi there, did you know your brother the big-time womanizer can't get his rocks off when he's had a few too many? Why no, Jo, I did not know that about my brother...._

Oh yeah, that's more hell than even Dean Winchester wants to walk into.

Anyway, he'll make it up to her the next time he sees her. And next time, he promises himself, no booze, and no blowjobs.

Next time, he'll show her what a smooth operator really is.


End file.
